Monday, October 27, 2014

Mid-August,
in Liberia, a mob stormed a clinic, attacking aid workers, freeing Ebola
patients and stealing contaminated equipment. The mob’s trigger appeared to be
mistrust of westerners and upside down conspiracy theory logic that noted
wherever there were foreign aid workers, there was also Ebola, so the aid
workers must be spreading it on purpose.

While
all our news channels seem to be peddling panic, nobody sells it as cynically
and willfully as Fox News.

Often humor says it best.

For
a dose of fear mongering, misinformation and manipulation regarding Ebola, tune
into Fox. It’s a prescription for intellectual poison: a 3-ring circus staring
everybody willing to twist public safety to their own profit; politicians
looking to demonize their opponents, pundits and anchors hoping to advance
their careers, conspiracy theorists theorizing, and xenophobes selling fear of
foreigners.

What’s
the reality of the Ebola threat? The best data I’ve found says your chances of
getting Ebola in America are 1 in 13.3 million. That means you have a 1,428
times greater chance of dying in a car accident, a 3.4 times greater chance of
being killed by a shark and are more likely to be killed by lightening.

But
like Jim Carrey’s character in Dumb & Dumber when told by his love interest
that there was a 1 in a million chance she’d go out with him, America seems to
be saying, “So you’re saying there’s a chance!”

How
has our health care system handled the disease? Other than one stumble in one
hospital, we’ve done remarkably well. After that initial stumble in Texas, we’ve
managed to quickly find, isolate, and treat the tiny handful of people who have
had the disease on our shores. And last Sunday’s 60 Minutes piece about the
nurses and doctors at that Texas hospital painted a very different picture of that
first Ebola death than the story of ineptitude we’d heard in the media thus far.
Rather than ineptitude, it looked heroic. What’s more, it’s overwhelmingly our
doctors, our professional medical folks, and our money on the front lines in
Africa fighting the disease.

As
prime international destinations go, when it comes to fighting Ebola, the U.S.
is pretty much #1 in the world and Americans are safe.

But
you’d never know that listening to 24 hour news channels, especially Fox, where
fear-mongering was a fixture long before the first Ebola case in the U.S.

New
York Magazine online documented this recently, posting videos of prime examples.
The sorry highlights include Ashleigh Banfield breathlessly comparing Ebola
with the terror/military group ISIS and asking a medical expert if both threats
should be treated with the same strategy. The guest was stunned by the
stupidity of the question. But Banfield pushed on, “All ISIS would need to do is send a
few of its suicide killers into an Ebola affected zone and then get them onto
mass transit [in America].” The doctor told her she was wrong.

I wish I could
say that was an isolated case of bad reporting, but on Fox, it’s virtually the
norm, a constant stoking of fear and mistrust, and of course there’s the
relentless argument: the Ebola threat to Americans was caused by President
Obama’s weak leadership and a bumbling federal government. GOP house and senate
members line up to insist that our borders be closed (likely not doable), that
direct flights from affected African countries be banned (no such flights
currently exist) and to make dramatic conspiracy theory accusation that truly
veer from misinformation into lala land.

There was one
moment of wisdom and calm from Fox’s Shep Smith who put the Ebola issue in brilliant,
level-headed perspective. But that was an anomaly.

On Fox News
Radio’s John Gibson Show, psychiatrist Keith Ablow, a member of Fox News’
“Medical A-Team” claimed, and I’m paraphrasing here, that Obama affiliates
himself with Africa, much more so than he thinks of himself as the American
president and therefore he is allowing Ebola into our country to purposefully
kill Americas.

Couple that
with conservative radio nut-jobs who have claimed Obama is letting Ebola in to
kill white American.

I blows the
mind to stop and think about the times we live in. We’re so used to hearing
loonies insist our president wasn’t born in America, that he’s a Muslim who doesn’t
actually practice the Christian religion of the church denomination he’s attended
his entire life, that he doesn’t really love America or want to protect our
troops, that it’s actually not shocking to hear a supposed medical expert claim
that, yes, now, our president actually wants to kill Americans.

For mainstream
politicians, Rand Paul wins the award for making groundless, dumb accusations,
suggesting on a number of shows that the government is purposefully misleading
the public about the danger of the Ebola virus. When asked to present evidence
or give examples, he offers none.

And this guy
wants to be president.

At a time when
our media and our leaders should be trying to calm the public and share the
facts, why are Fox news and the likes of presidential wannabe Rand Paul urging
panic and mistrust? In earlier generations when powerful figures in tense
moments used their positions to sell fear it led us to deprive people of their civil rights – whether it was with
Japanese interment camps or communist witch hunts or illegal wire taps on
Vietnam War protesters.

In Africa, Ebola
panic and conspiracy theories are born of poverty, superstition and poor
education and when it plays out in the streets it’s dirty, and ugly and dangerous. In America, Ebola panic and conspiracy theories are born of
greed, power lust and partisanship and when it plays out on the airwaves it is
clean, and groomed and dangerous.

Sunday, October 12, 2014

Last week, sipping a gin and tonic at the Denver airport at
the end of my 2nd visit in a year, I found myself pondering other recent
trips out west, Seattle and Portland included and considering the cultural
differences between here and the Midwest.

Denver's capital building from my son Jack's apartment building.

To start with, yes, it’s true, just about anywhere you go in
Denver the earthy, sweet aroma of marijuana greets you. Standing in line at the
Great American Beer Fest I smelled weed. Sitting in my son’s kitchen in Capital
Hill the smell rolled in the window regularly. Standing outside my other son,
Sean’s place a block away, weed fumes waft down the street and up the stairwell.
It followed me everywhere I went.

I started to think Willie Nelson was stalking me.

But the unique in these northwestern places goes beyond being on
the cutting edge of legalized pot. There’s an easy-going
“chill” to these cities that make them comfy places. Crowds at concerts and
festivals strike me as more gracious and tolerant. Folks on the street are relaxed
and smiling. They’ve got a refreshing “can-do” and “live and let live” way about them.

We like to think that technology is collapsing the borders
between us, and I think it clearly is.

On a recent episode of Bill Maher’s show, a guest made a
joke about the south being backward and hostile to Bill’s aggressive liberal
politics. Maher was quick to disagree, noting that every urban area he performs
in across the America is as plugged in and worldly as any other, with universities,
ethnic restaurants, food co-ops, a broad base of religious faiths and strong appreciation
for the arts.

My son Sean during our hiking trip last week.

My own little corner of Indiana has its Thai restaurants,
brewery tasting rooms, organic food producers, Trader Joe's, immigrants, vegans and hipsters.
About any musical artist you want to see performs here. There's opera, orchestra and professional soccer. I’ve seen just as many
hipsters in Indy’s Fountain Square as I found in any other vibrant inner city
neighborhood in Portland, Seattle, or Denver. And Indy has been winning
recognition lately as an increasingly bike friendly town.

But there are differences.

Mid-westerners in general, and Hoosiers in particular, have what
I impatiently call a “can’t-do spirit.” Propose a new idea and somebody’s quick
to list all the reasons why it won’t work.

It’s a suffocating cultural reflex.

It’s very Midwestern and so very Hoosier. Got a new idea? “Lemme
tell you why it won’t work.” You’ll hear Garrison Keillor describe the
characters in the fictitious Minnesota town of Lake Wobegon that way. Hoosier politicians specialize in it.

Former Indiana University economist Morton Marcus once said,
“If the Garden of Eden had been placed on the banks of the Wabash, we’d still
be waiting for original sin.” Hoosiers just don’t want to be first. We’ve got
our rut matted down just the way we like it. I’m proud of being a Hoosier, but
this nay-sayer tendency make me absolutely crazy

Folks in northwestern cities seem to have little fear of being first. Little fear of looking at the world with fresh eyes.

They like the outdoors, but instead of just saying so like
most folks do here, they actually go out and use it. Hoosiers will say they
long for the great outdoors of the west. I’ll ask, “Do you ever drive an hour
to southern Indiana and hike in the state and national forests? Do they ever go
caving down there? Ever throw a kayack in our beautiful local river?” I often get
blank stares in response.

Northwesterners love live music, and instead of simply
buying their annual tickets to Jimmy Buffet, Dave Matthews and Zack Brown Band,
they actually go out to hear live music on a regular basis –small acts in small
venues are just fine. That seeds a local musician culture. If you don't support live music at the grassroots, you don't get a thriving local musician culture. Northwesterners seem more interested in social justice, concerned to
the point of taking action over whether those with less are cared for. They
celebrate the odd, the weird, the unusual, rather than recoiling from it. These
are the places that loved Hoosier writer Kurt Vonnegut while folks in Indiana
scratched their heads at his unique, sometime controversial style. Mass transit
makes perfect sense to those in the urban west. That’s why it’s so easy to move
around their cities. Here, Indy has been wringing its hands for a couple
decades about light rail. We just can’t make ourselves pull the trigger. While we grumble about why it won’t work, northwestern cities go ahead and
build it.

The view hiking near Estes last week.

True, those cities have their own, over the top weirdness.
There’s the Portland movements to sorta legalize homelessness, “Ya know, why
can’t these folks sleep outside in public places if they want to? Isn’t it
their right?” I’m thinking, “My God! Shouldn’t you at least start by trying to
find them a home?” And the near flat-earth insistence that Portland’s water not
be fluoridated. And my Seattle friends joke, "People out here get pissed if you're smoking a cigarette in public, but not if you're smoking week."

These northwestern places are prone to such first world
luxuries. Folks in third world countries wouldn’t understand. You first have to
be spoiled before you can start fearing your luxuries with “fresh eyes.”

But these western places are mostly different in admirable
ways.

And along with their “can-do” spirit, they have a “live and
let live spirit.” That’s why legalized marijuana is taking hold out west along
with gay marriage and doctor assisted suicide.

So I sit in the Denver airport preparing to head home to the Hoosier state where politicians say the want to get government off our backs but at the
same time are so damn eager to dictate the terms of our private lives. And progressive change? I won't be expecting that anytime soon. My local and state leaders are likely ready with a list of reasons why
change won’t work.Buy Kurt's Book, Noblesville

Friday, October 3, 2014

When I was first restoring this house it was full of small
kids and life was a whirlwind.

I was a school teacher by day, sold real estate evenings and
weekends, was president of a local not-for-profit, had a weekly column in the
local paper, was assistant coach of one of the kid’s basketball teams, and was
editing and trying to publish a book.

And, yeah, I was restoring this house and was father to
small children. Children with soccer, basketball and baseball games, with Cub Scout
& Brownie meetings and science
projects and papers they forgot to start writing until the night before they
were due.

Each morning at 6:00 I was shot out of a cannon and I ran as
fast as I could all day until I dove back into bed. In the morning, the alarm
clock lit the cannon fuse again.

During this time, my father, who wasn’t very good at
commiserating or sharing emotionally expressive thoughts said, “You remind me
of myself when I was your age. I had every unpaid job in town.” Unfortunately I
have inherited my father’s habit of offering solace that also sounds like an
insult.

Once during those years my sister Cindy and her husband Jeff
visited from Florida. We were up late – my ex-wife and Cindy on the patio
talking while Jeff and I played endless games of H.O.R.S.E and drank beer in
the driveway. A child came out in their sleeper suit, awoken by the relentless
thump of the basketball. Jeff, who also wasn’t very good at sharing emotionally
expressive thoughts, paused mid shot, looked past the ball toward the house and
yard, wife and child and said, “You’re a lucky man. You’ve made a really good
life.”

Yes I did. And I still do. I’m a very fortunate person.

Though I long-ago freed myself of that manic work schedule,
this year I’ve found myself back at a workaholic work day at the very time the
children are grown and gone. It should be easier. But even that complaint is a
fortunate man’s observation: I’m making good money and publishing a book.

Never the less, I’m exhausted, it is Wednesday and I need a
nap.

It is over three years now since I first packed my bags and
left this house, 18 months since I kept the house in the divorce, a year since all
the boys left in a single autumn and their sister went off to college and nine
months since a single soul-numbing weekend in which my brother-in-law, Jeff
took his own life on a Friday night and my father died on Sunday. This year has
been the busiest of my twenty years of real estate. I have worked insane hours.
The relaunch of a book I wrote will take place this coming weekend. In a couple
days my house will fill with guests and I will be the center of attention and
responsibility.

Lunch at the coffee shop with Peggy and Kelli is done and I
desperately need that nap. I drive home and climb the stairs.

Though it’s the middle of the day, I make my rounds. I walk
the L-shaped hall and look into each bedroom. I started this when my kids were
babies, checking to make sure they were breathing. Then, as they grew I
continued my rounds each night before bed to make sure they were asleep or just
to watch them a-snooze and think about the age they were and what that meant at
the moment. But now each bed is empty. I’ve grown used to this. I’ve cleaned
them and prepared them for my weekend guests. The kids are all gone and I am
here in the house alone.

Walking to my bedroom I have the faint sense of being left
behind, as if everyone else went somewhere and I was the last one left in the
world we all once shared together. They, and their mother, all gone. But
there’s no real emotional content behind that thought. It’s just a thought. I
chose this as my way forward and I’m at peace with it. The kids left because
they grew up and started their own lives. All is as it should be.

The sun is pouring through the south-facing windows. I lay
down and Gracie curls in behind my knees, purring. I quickly fall into a deep
sleep.

An hour later I struggle to wake from a heavy, drug-like
sleep. An unseasonably cool July breeze billows the shades out from the window
sashes. I’m aware of the sound of a girl giggling and boyish hearty laughter
coming over the porch roof and through my bedroom window. I know those voices!
It’s the ghosts of my children playing in the side yard. They are running from
the sidewalk to the garage, laughing as they go, the joyous sound recedes from
my bedroom, echoes hard and bright through the stair landing window, and comes
again, this time muffled, from Cal’s back bedroom window down the hall. I think
I smell food. Pot pies in the oven downstairs? We’ll eat dinner around the
kitchen table soon!

No. That’s wrong. It’s not the sound of my children’s
ghosts. It’s their echoes ­– echoes from ten or fifteen years ago that got
stuck in the eves of the roof and the foundation vents. The cool breeze has
blown them free to be heard again.

But no. Wait! It’s not that at all. It’s the neighbor
children playing in the side yard. That’s what it is. Playing in the same place
where my children played. Playing the same sorts of games.

As I work my way through this from deep sleep to full
waking, I am not sad. I have few regrets. Cal is in Japan. Jack and Sean are in
Denver. Sally is visiting my sister, Jama in LA. Their mother lives across town
with another man and I am here in our old place. I share this room with another
woman. It is all as it should be. We are all in our own good places, places we
chose, and on good terms with one other.

Followers

About Me

The Contrarian's work has appeared in the Noblesville Daily Ledger, The Noblesville Times, NUVO Newsweekly, The Indianapolis Eye (web-based), The Noblesville Current, and at www.dailyyonder.com. He is the co-founder of the literary journal, the Polk Street Review, where his stories also appear. His novel, Stardust was published in 2002 and has just been republished again under the title "Noblesville," by River's Edge Media. His 2nd novel, The Salvage Man, was released August of 2015 by River's Edge. Kurt is a former school teacher and a Realtor.